


the am to pm cafe

by kickedshins



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/M, Fluff, M/M, adam and mark work at the shop everyone else is a customer, damien is canonically lactose intolerant which is fucking hilarious, ellie owns the place, mark bryant has I'm Your Brother Now syndrome and it is chronic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24781720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kickedshins/pseuds/kickedshins
Summary: “Thanks,” Caleb says. “I’ll, uh. I’ll see you around, Adam Hayes. It’s nice to have a new friend.”As soon as the door is closed behind Caleb, Adam slumps down into a chair. He groans, burying his head in his hands.“Did I just see you have your first date with him?” Mark asks, amused.“You did not,” Adam says, voice muffled by his palms. “He called me a friend. Which, hooray, but also, fuck.”orCoffee shop AU. It's a coffee shop AU.
Relationships: Adam Hayes/Caleb Michaels, Samantha Barnes/Mark Bryant
Comments: 16
Kudos: 47





	the am to pm cafe

**Author's Note:**

> it's a coffee shop au there's not much more to it. i'll try to update it about once a week/once every two weeks. also i know it takes place in boston but i have been to boston like . once . so i transported it to a different city that i know a lot better. sorry about that. hope you enjoy! :D

Caleb comes into The AM to PM Cafe every Thursday afternoon. He ducks in a little after 4pm, gets a coffee to go, comes back around 5:30, and sits with a pastry and his laptop until closing.

“It’s kinda creepy,” Mark tells Adam, “that you know that about him.”

“No, it isn’t,” Adam disagrees, and really, it isn’t. He knows the schedules of a ton of regular customers. It’s just that Caleb is by far the most consistent—it’s summer, for fuck’s sake, why the strict routine?—and by far the closest Adam’s age.

Mark hums in slight disagreement and wanders back over to the counter. “You excited to see him today?” he asks.

Adam sighs. “Is it that obvious?”

“To me, yeah. But I’m also a grown-ass adult with life experience. The bisexual thing doesn’t hurt, either. I’m attuned to that sort of thing. Plus, I’m actually behind the counter with you, watching you pine. Caleb’s a kid who barely interacts with you beyond thanking you for making his drink.”

“Harsh,” Adam winces.

“Yeah, sorry. True, though. For your sake, I really do hope he’s gay. Oh, hey,” Mark says, attention turned to the customer standing in front of the counter, “what can I do you for?”

“Green tea,” she says, fingers twitching. “Um, a large cup of green tea, not too hot, please, and with some sugar packets on the side.”

“Sugar’s over there,” Mark tells her, pointing to the DIY-milk-and-sugar setup on the side of the shop. “Can I get your name?”

“Sam,” she tells him. “Samantha.”

“Sam,” she tells him. “Samantha.”

“Sam Samantha,” Mark says, scrawling SAM in his messy, blocky handwriting across the side of a cup.

“No,” she corrects, “it’s just one or the other. Sam’s short for Samantha.”

“Okay,” Mark says.

Sam looks like a rabbit about to take flight. Adam pities her, honestly, which is kind of sad, considering she looks to be about ten years older than him and has also only said about twenty words. But she looks so frighteningly fragile that he can’t help it. 

He busies himself with her tea. Not too hot, she’d said, so he puts two ice cubes in it. Enough that it’ll cool down, but not enough that it’ll get cold. 

Her hands are steadier when she takes the cup from him. “Thank you,” she says. Steam hits her glasses, the fog covering her green eyes.

“Have a nice day,” Adam tells her. He doesn’t typically interact with customers more than is absolutely necessary, but this woman looks like she needs it.

She gives a small, shy smile. “Will do.”

It’s not the busiest of days. Thursdays rarely are. And it’s still before the post-work rush, so aside from a few college and high school students, The AM to PM Cafe (creatively titled by Adam’s aunt, who owns the place, because it’s open from 8am to 8pm) is experiencing a pretty slow afternoon.

Adam doesn’t hate it here. It’s a tiny coffee shop in downtown Manhattan with three tables and only two or three people on a shift at one time. It’s cute. Cozy. Not as frequented as many of the bigger places nearby, because every college kid thinks they’ve _found_ La Colombe, or something, so The AM to PM stays at a comfortable balance between lonely and overcrowded. Plus, he’s pretty much absolved of any and all wrongdoing due to the powers of nepotism, and Annabelle’s going to let him continue to work during the school year on weird hours, which is nice, because he wants to be more financially independent. His parents agree, too, saying stuff about preparing for college, and he’s sure they’re right, but he’s also not yet a junior, so he tries his hardest to not fret too much about two years in the future.

And Mark’s a good person to share his shift with. He doesn’t treat Adam like a baby, but he also keeps conscious that Adam’s still a kid. They’ve only been working together for about two months, but Mark’s already quasi-adopted himself as Adam’s surrogate brother. Adam minds that a lot less than he lets on. The only downside is that Mark hates Annabelle, which Adam doesn’t entirely get, but he supposes that she doesn’t treat all her employees the same way she treats the one that’s related to her. 

People filter in and out throughout the afternoon. The shop’s right by the downtown colleges, and school’s not yet in session but it’s going to be soon, so many customers are decked out in arts kid attire that is much too ridiculous for Adam’s black-t-shirt-and-black-jeans tastes. Other than laughing somewhat meanly with Mark about a few of the more unfortunate clashing patterns combinations that one of the customers is sporting, it’s a pretty boring afternoon, and Adam’s anticipation for Caleb’s arrival can’t help but increase as the minutes tick by.

Just before 4, Sam gets up for a refill. She still looks like a deer standing in front of a car, but this time, at least, it’s more like she’s caught in one headlight instead of both. Mark makes a show of remembering her name, and when she smiles, broad and unreserved, Adam is struck by how pretty she is.

“Here you go,” he says, giving her her refill. 

“Thank you,” she says again. Just like before, steam clouds her glasses.

“Have a nice day,” Adam says. Again. And again, she smiles at him. Tight-lipped and unsure. A turtle retreating back into her shell.

She doesn’t sit down with her tea this time. She takes her things, placing them all carefully back inside her bag, and walks out the door, turning to the left.

As soon as the door closes behind her, Mark says, “Whew.”

“Is this going to be like last time?” Adam says. Last time had been in mid-June, and it had ended disastrously. Adam had just started working at The AM to PM, and it was an interesting introduction to who Mark was as a person. “You know, you can’t actually write your number on a customer’s cup. That’s really weird. That doesn’t happen in real life. That leads to customers leaving and not coming back.”

“Yeah, so I’ve learned,” Mark grumbles. “How was I to know that guy was straight?”

“It wasn’t the sexuality thing that was an issue,” Adam says. “Or, well. It was, I guess. But the point is that you shouldn’t act on a customer crush, Mark.”

Mark throws his hands up in defense. “I wasn’t going to! Besides, if I had, I think she would have fallen over and died of shock.”

“What, and you would have been excited to administer CPR?”

Mark pulls a face. “No, Adam. I’m not a sleaze who fantasizes about kissing women when they’re unconscious.”

“Just had to check,” Adam says. “Glad we’re agreed on the _no acting on customer crushes_ front, then.”

“Mmm,” Mark says.

“Mark! You’re the adult here, last time I checked.”

“Oh, speak of the devil,” Mark says, elbowing Adam in the side. “Look who’s here?”

The door swings open, and in comes Caleb. He looks the same as he usually does: boring t-shirt, basketball shorts, hair falling in his eyes. Adam rolls his eyes at Mark and busies himself with pretending to use one of the machines.

“What can I do you for?” Mark asks.

“An iced coffee, please. With, uh, with some oat milk, if you’ve got it.”

“Sure do,” Mark says. Caleb asks every time if they have oat milk, and they always do, and Adam should not find this basic jock of a straight boy as endearing as he does, but Adam is cursed with unfortunate taste. Not bad taste, just unfortunate taste.

“Thank you,” Caleb says. His fingers brush over Adam’s as he takes the cup out of his hands. His eyes, big and brown, flit down to Adam’s name tag, and he adds, “Adam. Thanks, Adam.”

“No problem, Caleb,” Adam responds. 

For a second, Caleb seems confused as to how Adam knows his name. Then he looks at his cup and the recognition that he says his own name every time he’s here flickers across his face. “Duh,” he says to himself, softly. 

Adam bites back a grin, sucking at his lower lip.

“Well,” Caleb says, rolling back his shoulders. “I’ll, uh. I’ll catch ya later? Have a nice day.”

Adam responds, just a second too late, “You as well.”

And with that, Caleb’s out the door.

“What,” Adam says, “the fuck. Was that.”

“He said he’d catch you later,” Mark supplies helpfully.

“Yeah, no, I fuckin’ got that,” Adam says. “I just. What?”

“Well, he always comes back after an hour. As I know you know. So I think he was talking about that,” Mark explains, slowly, as if talking to a toddler.

“Again. Yeah. I got that. That’s not what I’m _what the fuck_ ing.”

“He’s gonna catch you later, Adam. You can ask him about it then. Oh, hey, what can I do you for?”

Chloe’s standing at the counter. Today, her bright pink locs are in a bun, and she’s wearing heart-shaped sunglasses. When she takes them off, Adam’s nearly blown back by the vibrance of her yellow eyeshadow. She gives him a wave and a grin, and he reciprocates.

Chloe’s one of Adam’s favorites. She’s also one of the only regulars with seemingly no schedule to when she arrives. Sometimes she’ll come twice a day. Sometimes she’ll go five days without a peep. Once, she showed up less than five minutes before closing, but afterward she helped them clean up and apologized profusely for her timing, so Adam’s willing to let that one go. 

She also never orders the same thing. Today, apparently, it’s a hot chocolate, despite the fact that it’s nearly ninety degrees out and that late August in New York City is a font of humidity.

“We’re indoors, though,” Chloe says, pointing a red-painted fingernail at him. They’re each done a different color of the rainbow. “There’s air conditioning in here. About thirty square feet of space, sure, but A/C. And it’s never broken. Which is why I love this place. Ergo, hot chocolate.”

“Whatever you want,” Adam says, amused. Chloe is about ten leagues away from being the sort of person Adam thinks he’ll ever grow up into, but if some insane twist of fate made him into a free-spirited artsy 20-year-old with a heart of gold and an uncanny knack for knowing what people are thinking, he wouldn’t be too mad. Better that than the anxiety-riddled woman from earlier. “Extra whip?”

“Uh, hell yes,” Chloe says. Her earrings jangle as she nods emphatically. “What kind of a woman do you take me for?”

“One with a sugar addiction,” he replies.

“Oh, you,” Chloe says. She boops him on the nose before taking her drink out of his hands. According to Mark, who still won’t disclose how long he’s been working here, Chloe’s been coming around for forever, and always makes instant friends with the newbies. This is not at all unimaginable to Adam.

He expects her to take the last empty seat, but she doesn’t. Instead, she stands right next to the counter, leaning against it. “How’s your summer been treating you?”

“Oh, me?” Adam says.

“Yeah, you. No offense, but if I get Mark started on his, he’ll bore me to death with photography information, and that is not my medium of choice when it comes to art, thank you very much.”

“Rude!” Mark calls, his heart not at all in the admonishment. 

“Uh, not much,” Adam admits. “Mostly haunting my house and working here. A few things to prep for school.”

“Junior, right?”

He nods. “Yeah. At Friends.”

Chloe shrugs. “No clue what that means. Not a city girl.”

“Really?” Adam asks. “Oh, I never would have guessed that. You seem very born-and-raised.”

Chloe’s laugh is strikingly addictive. “No, I just adapt well to my surroundings. I remember the first time I took the subway. I ended up in Staten Island. I was trying to go north, but then I didn’t, and I thought, _well, I’m just headed this way now, so why not_?”

“You amaze me,” Adam says. He’s not entirely sure if he’s being sarcastic or sincere.

“You amaze _me_ ,” Chloe says. “You’re a cool kid, kid! Oh, no. No, that’s weird, I was still pretty much a kid until recently.”

“You still are,” Mark says.

“Hey! Twenty isn’t a kid.”

“Neither is twenty-seven, but Joanie still treats me like it is,” Mark replies. “You’re a kid in my eyes.”

“Who’s Joanie?” Adam asks.

“His older sister,” Chloe explains. “She’s… I don’t know. I’ve met her a few times. She comes around every so often. Never steps inside, though, which is strange. Like she’s a vampire and needs an invite. You ever watch _Buffy_? No? You should. Anyway, she works around here, I think, so I feel like she should come around more? But she doesn’t.”

Mark rolls his eyes. “Yeah, she’s a drama queen disguised as an ice princess. Like, don’t get me wrong, I love her.” He sounds just a little bit like he’s trying to convince himself of that as much as he’s trying to convince Adam and Chloe. “She’s a lot, though, and she still treats me like I’m younger than even you are.”

“Sixteen,” Adam frowns, “is not that young. I’m a man. A Jewish man. Have been one for the past three years.” 

Mark laughs. “Chloe, don’t you have things to do other than bother the baristas?”

“Not really,” she admits. “I finished the project I was working on this morning, and I don’t want to start a new one right now, because if I do that, I’m gonna be up until two, and I was up until two last night, so, no. And you two aren’t busy right now, so bother I will.”

Right as she finishes speaking, the door swings open again. 

“Oh, crap,” Chloe says, and Mark sends her off with a _duty calls_.

It’s Sam. Again. She walks towards the empty table, sees Chloe, and stops. “You can, um… you were here first,” Sam says, pointing towards it. 

“There’s two chairs,” Chloe responds. “No reason why we can’t share! Also, don’t I know you from somewhere?”

Sam shakes her head, blonde hair falling in her face. “I don’t think so. I’m at NYU, so we wouldn’t have classes together,” she tells Chloe, pointing at Chloe’s Parsons tote bag. “Plus it’s summer.”

“Oh, you’re totally my mom’s student!” Chloe says. “Or, you were last year. Look, sit down with me, and let’s talk, okay?”

“O–okay,” Sam says. She’s holding herself like she’s not entirely convinced a camera crew isn’t going to pop out from behind the bushes. “Let me first just…” She gestures towards the counter.

“Green tea?” Mark asks as she approaches. She’s clutching her own bag like it’s a lifeline, like she’s going to drown if she lets go. Adam is about three seconds away from referring her to a therapist.

“No,” Sam says, almost apologetically. “Chamomile, if you’ve got it.”

“Adam?”

“Yeah, we’re not out,” Adam says. 

“Fantastic. And it’s still Sam, is it not?”

“Hasn’t changed,” Sam says. She tries something that Adam is pretty sure is supposed to be a giggle. It does not sound like a giggle. 

When he hands over her tea for the third time, Sam gives him a real smile. Not as bright as the one she’d given Mark, but it’s a real smile. Adam feels almost proud.

“So,” Mark says, before she can step away. “What brings you back so soon?”

Sam tucks a curl behind her ear. “Messed up the timing of an appointment. It’s in an hour. Five fifteen. I thought it was at four fifteen. I ran into a kid there who seemed to have my timeslot and I’d realized I messed up.”

“Cool,” Mark says.

There’s silence for a second. Adam thinks he’s going to shatter the cup he’s holding by sheer force of grip strength alone.

“C’mere,” Chloe calls, breaking the tension. “Let’s chat, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, her shoulders drawing inwards and upwards. “Sure thing.”

Adam tries really hard not to eavesdrop on their conversation. It’s not fair to the customers and their privacy, especially not to frequent visitors like Chloe. Still, it’s a tiny coffee shop, and the yacht rock playing overhead that Mark unabashedly loves is not loud enough to drown out their chatter. 

Or, more accurately, Chloe’s chatter. She talks enough for the both of them. Sam’s pretty quiet. Not necessarily short of words when she gets going, Adam finds, but not one to jump in over Chloe.

They talk about college, about how Sam took Chloe’s mom’s class last year, about how Chloe’s seen her around a few times. They dance around the fact that Sam is obviously much older than your typical undergrad junior, and though Adam kind of wants to know what the deal is with that, he really doesn’t care enough to not mind when neither of them address it directly. Mark, though, pumps a discreet little fist when he hears Sam say she’s twenty-five.

“She’s not going to date you just because she’s about your age,” Adam tells him.

“But she _could_ date me considering that she’s about my age,” Mark replies. “Besides, this is all purely hypothetical, as you know. Didn’t we decide that we’re putting a moratorium on making moves on customer crushes?”

“Don’t drag me into this,” Adam accuses. “I’m not the one who got publicly rejected by some dude in a Gryffindor scarf a month ago.”  
Mark winces. “Low blow to bring up the Harry Potter thing. I had almost successfully repressed that.”

An hour passes easily. A few more people come in, though no one of real interest makes an entrance. Chloe talks and Sam absorbs and Mark fails at pretending he isn’t keeping one ear open to what Sam’s saying, especially when he wanders into the seating area on his break. Adam fixes drinks and checks his phone and fixes drinks and checks his phone and fixes drinks and finally, Sam gets up to leave.

“Wait,” Chloe says. “Let me give you my number, okay? We can hang out, if you want.”

Sam tilts her head as if confused by the concept of friendship. “Alright,” she says. It takes a second, but she relinquishes her phone to Chloe and lets her add herself to her contacts. “I suppose I’ll be seeing you around, then?”

“Yes, you will!” Chloe responds. 

Sam walks away like a prizefighter exiting a ring. Adam has no idea what her deal is, but he knows she’s going to make a very interesting customer if she continues to stick around.

Once Sam is out the door, Chloe gives Mark a look. A _look_ . One that says _I know how you feel about her_.

Mark shrugs. “So sue me,” he says. “I think she’s sweet!”

A few minutes later, Caleb comes back into the shop. Adam tries to not jump at the jangle of the doorframe hitting the bell above it, and he tries not to jump again at Caleb’s face. It’s blotchy, and his eyes are red. Irritated. Like he’d been rubbing at them.

“A cake donut, please,” he says to Mark. Somehow, he manages to make the word _please_ sound like the most biting insult Adam’s ever heard. “To stay.”

Caleb’s foot beats a rapid pace against the floor as he stands, waiting. Adam has never seen him like this. To be fair, Adam’s only seen him six or seven times in his life, but it’s still jarring to look at the waves of rage all but radiating off of Caleb’s broad shoulders.

It makes sense, of course. Adam knows he’s a football player, because he’s seen Caleb flicking through pictures of the team on his computer. And Adam doesn’t love living by stereotypes, but he’s a self-described depressed sort-of-emo teen, so he can’t exactly say they’re all untrue. It’s not that he ever thought Caleb was an idiot with no self-control, or anything, but it’s also not that Adam’s entirely surprised that the jock is clearly having difficulty dealing with the fact that sometimes, life sucks. 

He hears Caleb say, “What?”

Adam looks up. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You look…” Caleb says, searching for the right words. His cheeks get even redder. “I don’t know. Fuckin’ pissy. What’s your issue?”

Even though he’s safely behind the counter, Adam takes a step back. “I don’t have an issue, dude.”

“Yeah, you do,” Caleb insists. “Your face got all screwy, and you’re all tense and shit, and you’re fucking upset, so what’s the deal? I didn’t do anything to you.”

“I know you didn’t,” Adam says. His voice is low, but his brain is screaming _what the hell is up with this kid?_ He’s never seen Caleb this angry. He’s never seen Caleb express this kind of emotion ever, actually. Usually, it’s just a quick stop in for coffee and then a few hours of typing at his computer with a snack. And, sure, sometimes he’ll be more upset, or happier, or something like that, but his feelings usually fall within the average spectrum of human emotion. This is not that. “I was just surprised that you came in looking mad, I guess. I was… concerned.”

“Oh,” Caleb says, visibly relaxing. He looks like a balloon deflating, his shoulders falling down and his jaw unclenching. “Oh. Uh. Sorry. Thank you? Sorry.” He scratches at the back of his neck.

“It’s okay,” Adam says. He tries to keep the note of incredulous amusement out of his voice, but it’s hard. Caleb flitting from extreme rage to sheepishly apologetic in the span of three seconds is more impressive than the vast majority of acting he’s seen in his school performances. 

“I just—oh, thanks,” Caleb starts, cut off by Mark placing the donut in front of him. He hands over the cash and says, like always, “Keep the change for a tip.”

“Will do,” Mark says. He looks like he wants to join the conversation, but he hangs back. As much as Mark has decided to be Adam’s older brother, he respects that Adam is a kid, and Caleb is a kid, and also, some business just isn’t his. Adam likes that about him.

There’s no conversation to be joined, though. With the moment dashed, Caleb turns and looks for a spot. 

They’re all taken. Caleb says, emphatically, “Fuck.” 

And then he starts shaking, and Adam wants to help him, but he doesn’t know how.

“Hey, hey,” Chloe says, hopping up from her chair. “You can sit with me. It’s no trouble, seriously.”

He doesn’t seem to hear her, though, because he sets the plate with the donut down on the part of the counter where Adam puts the outgoing drinks and sits on the floor. Right there in the middle of the coffee shop. 

The other two people seated in the shop either don’t notice or don’t care. Chloe does, though, and rushes over. She nearly trips over her own platformed shoes in her haste to make sure that an absolute stranger to her is alright. 

Caleb’s arms are wrapped around his legs, and he isn’t crying, but he doesn’t look too far off. Adam’s heart twists in sympathy. He tries to tell Caleb that it’s going to be okay, but as the words fall out of his mouth, they feel limp, and far too quiet. He’s pretty sure Caleb doesn’t hear him.

Chloe looks Caleb in the eye and asks, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Caleb shakes his head furiously. Still not crying. Still keeping a lid on whatever’s trying to get out. “I’m… Christ, I’m overreacting. It’s a fucking table. Sorry. Jesus, I’m so sorry.”

Chloe extends a hand. “Come. Sit. Eat your donut.”

Caleb reaches out and takes it. She pulls him up, which is impressive, considering Caleb probably has a foot on her, not to mention a lot more muscle mass.

“Thanks,” he says. “I’m, uh. Gonna stand here for a sec.”

“Sure thing,” Chloe says. She quickly busies herself with her phone back at her table.

Caleb stands. Caleb stands, and he doesn’t take the donut back from where he’s placed it, and honestly Adam’s kind of worried that in the heat of everything, he’s forgotten about said donut, so he reaches over the counter and taps Caleb on the arm.

His bicep is firm as hell. Adam tries to pretend he isn’t affected. 

Adam says, “Your donut.”

Caleb says, “My what?”

“Donut.”

“Oh. Oh, thanks. I’d forgotten.”

“I figured,” Adam says, and then he wants to kick himself for saying it. “Just because you got all… yeah. No. I’m making it worse.”

Despite everything, Caleb gives a wet laugh. “It’s okay. I’m sorry for earlier. For getting all defensive and shit. It wasn’t cool of me. I just thought you were… I don’t know, laughing at me? For being mad? It’s stupid, I know. And, like, totally not warranting an absolute fucking meltdown. So. Yeah. I’m sorry for– for that.”

“It’s cool,” Adam says. And then, because the surprises never stop today, he adds, “You can, like, talk about it, if you want.”

“Ha,” Caleb says. “No, thank you. The talking about it is the issue. Just spent a fucking hour talking about it, and that got me nowhere.”

“Uh,” Adam says eloquently.

“Just, whatever,” Caleb says, waving a hand in front of him. “I’m okay. Thanks for the offer, though, man.”

“Sure thing,” Adam answers. He wants to say more, but he doesn’t know what more there is to say.

Caleb takes his seat at Chloe’s table. Chloe looks delighted by the prospect of making two new friends in one day, but before she can open her mouth, Caleb has popped in his headphones.

Chloe frowns in Mark’s direction. Mark mouths back, “Teenagers.”

“Unfair to generalize us all,” Adam grumbles.

“Oh, please, you’re more angsty than Wonderboy over there is by a longshot.”

The afternoon turns into night, and Caleb still doesn’t remove his headphones or look up from his phone. When Adam takes his break, he’s almost tempted to try to talk to Caleb, or even to Chloe (largely in the hopes that it’ll snap Caleb out of whatever mood he’s in), but he holds back. It’s not his business, and it also isn’t the end of the world if a cute customer doesn’t notice him. Caleb is not his end-all-be-all, not by any stretch of the imagination, so really, Adam doesn’t even care that much. The only reason he fixates so much on Caleb is because Caleb is a very consistent weekly streak of normalcy, and this week, that streak is broken. Adam likes puzzles, likes understanding things, likes figuring it all out. Caleb is one intriguing mystery. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that he’s attractive.

At some point, Chloe leaves, and customers stop trickling in. Soon enough, it’s seven in the evening, and Adam hasn’t done a damn thing for the past half hour.

Finally, Caleb pulls himself out of his phone. He tugs out his headphones and takes out his laptop and starts to type. Adam can’t see what he’s typing, as the computer screen is facing away from him—not that he’d try to peek even if he could see—but the pressure with which Caleb hits the keys is mildly concerning.

After about five minutes, Caleb gives up. He slams the laptop closed with a _snap_. He looks up, looks around, and his gaze lands on Adam. He says, “You busy?”

Adam looks at Mark. Mark says, “You’re very much not busy. I can handle the, like, two customers who might come in from here until closing.”  
“I’m not,” he calls back to Caleb.

“Cool. So I’m not bothering you if I ask you if you wanna just hang with me for a bit?”

“ _What the fuck_ ,” Adam hisses under his breath to Mark.

“No clue,” Mark responds. He sounds like he’s on the verge of laughter. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

“What the fuck,” Adam repeats, blunter this time. Turning back towards Caleb, Adam raises his voice and informs him, “You’re not bothering me.”

“Great. So. Wanna just… hang with me for a bit?”

Adam ducks under the counter and deposits himself in the seat opposite Caleb’s. “Hey,” he says. And then, because this is an extremely weird situation, and he thinks maybe he should act like it’s a somewhat normal first real meeting, he sticks out a hand and says, “I’m Adam Hayes.”

“Caleb Michaels,” Caleb says, shaking it. His grip is strong, and his palm is calloused. “So, uh. You go to school around here?”

“I go to Friends,” Adam says. “Just a few blocks away. You?”

“Fieldston,” Caleb says, letting out a little _ha_ at Adam’s face. “Pretty far away, I know. My little sister goes to Ethical Culture. A ton of kids from there end up going to Friends, so I’m familiar with it.”

“Cool,” Adam says. “Um. I’m a junior. Going to be a junior in the fall.”

“Me too,” Caleb replies. He’s smiling. “So… what do you do for fun, Adam?”

This feels so much like a very strange first date that Adam takes almost twice as long to answer as he probably should. “I like music,” he says, “and reading. And during the school year, I do sound for some of the shows. Tech theatre. It’s pretty nice.”

“I do sports,” Caleb says. “Football. The hill schools have teams, so it’s nice that I can play even in the city. And that takes up most of my time, I guess? I dunno. I like English class, sort of. I like it as much as a person likes school.”

“I don’t mind school,” Adam says. “The learning parts, at least.”

 _Overshare much_ ? his brain asks. _Shut the fuck up_ , he tells his brain.

“That’s neat of you,” Caleb says. Neat. Like it’s the 90s or something. It’s kind of cute. “I wish I was better at the learning parts.”

“I wish I knew how to throw a spiral—it’s called a spiral, right?—so it’s a trade-off,” Adam replies. Which is a blatant lie, because Adam could not give two shits about throwing a spiral, but something tells him that dunking on Caleb’s sport of choice right now would not be the kindest thing to do, considering the fact that Caleb damn near had a panic attack on the floor of the shop earlier today.

Caleb laughs at that. Actually laughs. Happy laughs. Adam feels stupidly, drunkenly giddy. “I’ll teach you one day,” Caleb promises.

And that sends Adam clear into the stratosphere. “Sounds great,” he chokes out, and prays that Caleb doesn’t realize how taken he is by that prospect. 

They spend the better part of an hour chatting. It’s surprisingly easy, considering they go to different schools and have different interests and that, until just an hour ago, their only interactions had been limited to a very mercenary exchange of coffee and money. But before Adam knows it, it’s nearly closing time, and Caleb’s pulling his bag over his shoulders and pushing in his chair.

“Thanks for talking to me,” Caleb says.

“More fun than sitting on my ass behind the counter,” Adam says. “I needed to talk to someone my age, so thank _you_ for that. I’ll, uh. I’ll see you next week? Not to sound creepy, or anything, I just know when most regulars come in, so…”

“I don’t think you’re creepy,” Caleb tells him. He looks at Adam with a look on his face that, for the life of him, Adam simply cannot begin to figure out. “This is… look, do you want my number? Like, I don’t think I misread this whole thing. I don’t _think_ I was holding you captive, or some shit, but if I was, just say the word.”

“Misre– no, you weren’t holding me captive. I am actually my own person and could have walked away at any time,” Adam deadpans. And then the rest of what Caleb said catches up to him, and he says, just a touch incredulously, “You want my number?”

“Don’t bother about it if you don’t wanna give it,” Caleb responds, curling inwards.

“No, no. No, it’s just that this is kinda strange circumstances to get to know someone. I mean, it’s not bad. I was just a little surprised, is all. Gimme your phone. I’ll put it in.”

Adam sends himself a text from Caleb’s phone. When he hands it back, Caleb’s looking at him with that same quizzical expression as before. He quickly wipes it off his face once Adam’s attention is very clearly back on him, though.

“Thanks,” Caleb says. “I’ll, uh. I’ll see you around, Adam Hayes. It’s nice to have a new friend.”

As soon as the door is closed behind Caleb, Adam slumps down into a chair. He groans, burying his head in his hands.

“Did I just see you have your first date with him?” Mark asks, amused. 

“You did not,” Adam says, voice muffled by his palms. “He called me a friend. Which, hooray, but also, fuck.”

“That’s closer than you guys were yesterday,” Mark says. “And you gave him your number. So, success. Unless giving someone your number isn’t a success for kids these days?”

“Kids these days?”

“We are technically of different generations, aren’t we?”

“Generations,” Adam says, “are a fabricated thing created to pit the people against each other and also increase the marketability of certain material goods. Also, yeah, you make the cut for millennials.” Adam lifts his head, and he feels, for the first time all summer, like a little kid. His voice is more vulnerable than he wants it to be. His eyes, he’s sure, are wider than he wants them to be. “I didn’t tank it,” he asks. “Right?”

“You did not tank it,” Mark assures him. “Now, c’mon. You gotta do more cleanup than me tonight because your customer crush is into you and mine isn’t into me. It’s only fair.”

Adam sighs, resigns himself to his fate, and lets the memory of Caleb calling him a friend carry him through closing.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! kudos/comments always appreciated. you can find me @ kickdshins on twitter!


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